


Detention

by angelblack3



Series: In Session [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Dominant/Submissive, M/M, PWP, Rimming, Spanking, Threesome, hints of dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 17:55:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelblack3/pseuds/angelblack3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes even the favorite student needs to be taught a lesson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Detention

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so bit of a warning here this sort of toes into dark territory from both Jim's and Sherlock's thoughts in this work.
> 
> Everything I touch turns dark, who's surprised? No one? Good to know. 
> 
> So please let me know if I should put Unhealthy Relationship or something in the tags if anyone thinks this story is triggering. It's not super bad, but John is manipulated pretty badly here.
> 
> Sorry this took so long there was one point where I'd tried to make it plotty and then scrapped the whole thing and started over. 
> 
> My thanks to all of my fans, and to those who were waiting for a sequel. :) I hope this lives up to your expectations! 
> 
> Next stop, an update to Stone Blood and Bone!

Draped across the laps of two brilliant and devastatingly handsome men, you would think one John H. Watson would be a little happier. And, well, he was ‘happy’ in a sense. But, as the two had pointed out earlier, his pleasure wasn’t what was important about tonight. No, tonight was about discipline. 

Mr. Holmes smacked him again across his red backside, and John made a noise somewhere between a moan and yelp. In response, Mr. Moriarty squeezed where John’s wrists crossed behind his back. John jerked when Sherlock rubbed a soothing hand over the burning skin, the sensation echoing everywhere over his exposed skin. Another slap soon took its place.

Again and again and again, Sherlock’s firm hand fell down upon his crimson skin; until John finally cried out, “Stop! Stop! I can’t--I can’t—“His pleas dissolved into pained gasps. He couldn’t string together words that might make this stop. Regardless, his begging only goaded them on. 

Sherlock hit him twice more before finally replying, “I think he’s entirely missing the point of his punishment. Don’t you, Jim?”

“Hm,” Moriarty drawled, “yes. Poor thing has entirely lost his wits.” Her transferred the wrists to one hand, and gripped John by his hair with the other. With a sharp pull, John’s neck was forced to arch. John wiggled a little bit, suddenly finding it very difficult to breathe. 

“You see Johnny,” Jim growled close to his ear, “this isn’t about how much you can handle. This is about how much you are going to _accept_. This is the consequence you have to pay.”

He let go of John’s hair, and his head hit the armrest with a small thump from the sudden release. Several sudden smacks to his ass nearly made him miss Jim’s words, 

“Punishment, Johnny boy! That’s what this is about, the sooner you realize that, then the sooner this will be over!”

Sherlock landed a hit on the crease between his buttocks and thigh, and John practically tried to leap away from them,  
“  
Well,” Jim conceded, “it might go on a little longer than that.” 

Cold fear and anticipation curled in John’s gut, utterly confusing and terrifying. This is a fairly recognizable emotion around these two. The hits stopped after John had given up counting.

“My hand’s tired,” Sherlock announced, and John could’ve wept in relief, “switch with me.” 

And now he could cry for an entirely different reason. It’s all good and blissful to have two brilliant lovers who enjoy tormenting you with their tongues, words and cocks; until they both decide what you really need is a good old-fashioned slap across the backside. All of this for openly flirting with a girl in class.

In his defense, it wasn’t like he’d expected _this_ to happen. And it had been a whole month after what had occurred in Mr. Holmes’ office, with no indication of a repeat on the horizon. 

And, alright, maybe he’d wanted to make them jealous. To get back at them a little bit, for making him feel like a used tissue. And really, John’s not sure if he would even take it back now. The two of them, focusing their attention on him, for better or for worse, was a heady feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

The pain is almost eradicated, to know that he is the one that can inspire such possessiveness in them. 

John shifted to move off of their laps so that the two men could stand and change their positions. But instead, his legs and torso were roughly pulled until he was facing the opposite side. The rough slide of their trousers against his skin made him hiss, and he nearly protested until Jim landed his hand right on a bruise. 

After that, he was biting his lips to distract himself from the burn of his arse. He arched and twisted, but there was no escaping the pain. It was Sherlock’s turn to hold his wrists, and the position was putting a strain on his shoulders. Tears were starting to form in his eyes, the burn radiating from his waist up to his chest to spread over his shoulders like licks of flame, until each slap was reverberating throughout his body. 

He yelped again, meant to say “please” and “stop” one more time, but it was lost in his throat somewhere. There was too much building up inside of him, and he had no outlet, no way to escape it all. But desperation made him foolish, and the buzzing in his head couldn’t even be qualified as thinking anymore; he was on a continuous loop of white noise. So he bit Sherlock’s thigh to try and bring himself back down.

The response was immediate. The flesh jerked under his teeth before he was being wrenched back up by his hair again. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” growled a man whose face was a furious mask of ivory with shards of silver for eyes. 

John couldn’t stop the pitiful whimper. Those eyes showed a very dangerous promise, and no matter how much John wanted to, no matter how much he wanted to please the both of them with his own flagellation, he wasn’t sure he could keep up. A few of his hairs came loose from the force of his flinch when Jim hit him again.

He didn’t see it, his eyes squeezed closed to avoid Sherlock’s glare, but Sherlock’s expression smoothed out immediately. He looked over to Jim, who had stopped abusing the reddened flesh to share a concerned look. 

Though the sentiment wasn’t meant for John’s well being. The jealousy still festered inside of the both of them like an untreated wound. They still wanted John to answer for his actions. But if they pushed the boy too far, he might not return to them.

So Jim crooned, “Johnny boy?” 

He opened his eyes, water leaking out from the corners in pain and shame. He tried to turn his head, and Sherlock let go, soothing his fingers over the abused scalp.

“Your punishment’s not done yet,” John’s face crumbled, “but, are you ready to work on your apology?” 

John looked confused, though there was a slight glimmer of hope that this ordeal might be over, “But, I—already said I was sorry?”

Sherlock spoke this time, “Regaining our trust isn’t that simple John. But don’t worry, we’ll tell you how you can earn it back.”

His hand guided John’s head closer, and he kissed him gently. John’s relief and sudden release of tension nearly made him melt in their laps. Jim’s hand rubbed softly over his red skin, and he jolted his hips forward in surprise. The action rubbed his softened prick over Jim’s rough trousers, and he yelped in startled pain. 

Sherlock’s fingers flexed over John’s jaw where he’d gently been holding him in place. He desperately wanted that again. To feel John’s breath, agonized or otherwise, blown into his mouth when he couldn’t help it. To unwillingly give him that precious commodity of air, just so Sherlock could taste what it was like to be inside of John’s lungs. He reared himself. Another time. When there had been progress. 

Instead he patted John’s cheek and said, “Kneel in front of me, but grab a pillow for your knees. This is about earning our acceptance over your apology, there doesn’t need to be any more pain involved.”

Jim raised an unnoticed eyebrow at him for that. While John tenderly did as he was told, the tight skin of his thighs and bottom protesting movement of any kind, Sherlock mouthed, “Not yet.” 

John actually seemed to relax once he was on the floor. He reached his hands forward, fingers ready to unzip Sherlock’s trousers, but the man grabbed his wrists. “John,” Sherlock chastised, “try to keep up. This will be your last warning.” John’s face was clouded with confusion and apprehension, “We are the ones that decide what you do tonight. If you take any initiative again, the longer this night will be. Understood?” 

John’s eyes widened and he nodded, letting his hands go limp in Sherlock’s grip. His shoulders slumped forward, not out of relief, but as a physical assurance that he was submitting to them. That he’d willingly surrender more than he already had. 

When he did, Sherlock stroked his hair reassuringly, “Very good John,” and the boy smiled a bit at the praise. He let go of John’s hands, letting them fall between them so he could steady himself on all fours. The sight of him bent over, trembling and anxious but so _pliant_ sent a heady thrill straight to Sherlock’s cock. 

Suddenly, John felt a presence right behind him. Jim ran a hand along the warm skin of John’s backside, admiring the redness. The marks wouldn’t stay, which was quite a shame. But at least they all knew that John wouldn’t be forgetting this night anytime soon. John clawed his fingers into the carpet, focusing entirely on the electric tingle that shot up and down his spine. 

For a minute, Jim just admired the shades of pinks and reds glowing on the supple skin. The way he could make out the distinct difference in finger marks between himself and his ‘partner’. If he had enough time, he could sort out how many hits each man had delivered and possibly give an accurate placement. As it stood, Jim had far more pressing matters on his mind.

Like why he hadn’t licked that colorful skin yet. That needed to be rectified immediately. 

John’s yelp was delicious. Jim continued to lave his tongue over the friction hot skin. The hits hadn’t broken into welts, of course. It had just been open palms meeting flesh. Painful, but nowhere near permanent. The spit was cool but quickly warmed against John’s overheated skin. The tongue trailed its way across his over sensitized bottom, making John gasp. The muted buzz of arousal intensified into need with every swipe of Jim’s tongue. 

But then John felt two thumbs slide between his cheeks. The shock of feeling himself being slowly parted, along with the stimulation from Jim’s tongue, was enough to punch all of the air out of his lungs. His hands clawed into the carpet to try and ground himself and to keep himself from either involuntarily pulling away or pushing back. 

Raw panic about where this was undoubtedly going clawed up his throat, but he didn’t know how to express it. Sherlock had told him initiative was prohibited, but did the need to protest and halt this for a second to process count? 

Sensing everything, like usual, Sherlock petted John’s hair soothingly while Jim pulled back to place placating kisses on his skin. “You have no need to be hesitant John,” Sherlock said, “you took a shower before you came here. You were already sure about where this night would lead. There’s absolutely nothing you need to fear from us when it concerns you.” 

And really, that shouldn’t be the thing that calms John down. Jim’s caresses over his hipbones shouldn’t clear away his anxieties about this. But it does. So John relaxed the tension in his shoulders, letting his head fall in the semblance of a nod.

John nuzzled his head on Sherlock’s thigh. His voice pitched into a helpless whine when Jim’s tongue started to trail lower. Sherlock’s long fingers gently held the back of his skull, turning his face away from Sherlock’s leg. 

“John,” Sherlock said in a voice that had gone significantly rougher in the last two minutes, “look at me.” 

And John blinked open his eyes in the same instant that Jim licked a line from behind his scrotum to the top of his hole. 

“ _Fuck_ ”, John swore. His face contorted in unexpected pleasure, his eyes squeezed shut to witness the white sparks behind his lids. 

“John,” Sherlock prompted again. His voice was still gentle, but only because it was almost breathless. Jim traced the same wet path again, and chuckled to himself over how wrecked Sherlock sounded. It was a shame that he couldn’t see John’s face in this moment. But being the cause of such wonderful noises was enough of a reward.  
John shuddered, and opened his eyes at Sherlock’s prompting. 

“Look at me,” Sherlock repeated, his free hand slowly undoing the button of his trousers. “Keep your eyes open, as much as you can.”

This was an incredibly hard request to fulfill when Jim started to _kiss_ him on the wrinkled skin of his arsehole. With the same unrelenting ardor he applied to maths problems, Jim began to take John apart. He slowly wedged his tongue into the muscle, slicking him up with as much saliva as possible. 

It was a bit of an odd angle for Jim, kneeling and bent over. He would have loved to dislodge the little minx from Sherlock’s grip. To have John’s face firmly pushed into the carpet while Jim spread him open with his tongue until he moaned like a good little whore. But that would deny whatever pleasure Sherlock was getting from the undoubtedly debauched look on little Johnny’s face. 

And they can’t be selfish with their John. They can be greedy, but not selfish. They have to share. The first one to forfeit that also forsakes the game entirely, forever leaving John to the lecherous whims of the other. 

It’s a good game. A _wonderful_ game. One where the only piece they have to play with is already so entertaining all on his own. But it was not a game Jim intended to lose.

So he restrained the urge to pull John back into his face, to pull John off balance until his cheek gained some wonderful impressions from the carpet fibers. The lovely image that made him reach between his legs to briefly soothe his own erection, before he went back to spreading John open. 

Sherlock freed himself from his trousers. His erection leaked tiny beads of precum at the tip, the skin flushed and pulled taut. John unconsciously licked his lips at the sight, groaning and rolling his eyes back when Jim actually _swirled_ his tongue. Sherlock tugged at his hair a little, to regain his attention, and John did his best to refocus. 

Sherlock hissed in pleasure at the glazed over look in John’s eye. At the way the boy tried his best to obey his orders to keep his eyes open, even while Jim overwhelmed his capacity for sensation. 

Sherlock gently but firmly guided John closer to his groin. The distance forced John to crawl forward a pace or two, effectively halting Jim’s rhythm. Sherlock gave himself another point of victory against his rival. 

John, naked, trembling and sweating, wondered how the pain he felt such a short time ago could be so effectively erased from his body. Sherlock tilted up his chin, and his gaze obediently followed. 

“I want you to place my cock in your mouth John,” which was an easy and uncharacteristically unnecessary request, “and I want you to keep looking at me while you’re sucking me off.” A thumb rubbed gentle circles into John’s cheek, “Will you do that for me?” 

John nodded. His neck bent forward, and he only looked so he knew where he needed to go. Once the hard flesh was in his mouth, John fluttered his tongue in an imitation of Jim’s, and looked up at Sherlock through his blonde lashes. 

Sherlock groaned. It was as much a challenge for him to keep his eyes open as it was for John. But God, it was a rewarding sight. John’s small mouth was stretched around his cock and his blue eyes were filled with lust, but they also sought out his approval with an open vulnerability that sent sharp stabs of arousal up Sherlock’s spine and out of the top of his head. John’s cheeks hollowed out when he sucked, and Sherlock’s breath was pulled out of his lungs. 

He petted the back of John’s head, a silent gesture of his approval, and John moaned in happy arousal. The vibrations up his prick made Sherlock’s free hand grip the armrest until his knuckles turned white. 

For only his second time, John was rather remarkable. If it continued this way, Sherlock was going to come much sooner than he intended. With great reluctance, Sherlock eased John’s mouth off of his cock. 

“Just use your tongue,” Sherlock instructed. And like the good boy he was, John obeyed. He licked up the shaft with flat and broad strokes. Much the same way that Jim was doing to his arsehole right now. John moaned, shivering on all fours and briefly closing his eyes. Unbeknownst to him, his mouth had stayed open. Sherlock greedily took in the sight of John’s open mouth moaning over the sensitive head of his dick. 

But eventually the sight paled in importance to regaining the hot and wet friction of John’s tongue. He guided John forward and took his cock in hand to softly guide the tip over John’s lips. He left a trail of white precome, which John quickly licked away.

Sherlock finally dared to look away from John’s lips, to look him in the eyes instead. He honestly wasn’t sure which sight caused the low growl to bubble up in his throat. But suddenly he was throwing thoughts of making this last out of the window. 

With both hands he gripped the back of John’s head to slide his mouth down onto the hard flesh. John groaned blissfully, perfectly happy to please the brilliant man above him.

Meanwhile, Jim felt satisfied with his attentions, and he pulled away. His hands kept John spread open, allowing him to witness John’s glistening and pink hole twitch from exposure to the cool air. Jim softly blew air across the skin with a wicked smirk on his lips. John twitched forward, taking more down his throat than he meant to.

He pulled off to cough, but didn’t have much time to recover. Sherlock forced him back on with a vicious snarl, beginning to pump in and out of his mouth with harsh thrusts. 

John almost protested the blatant disregard for his need to breathe, until he remembered what they’d been telling him all evening. He was there for punishment. He was there to apologize. Right now, his comfort wasn’t top priority.

So John took it in stride, fluttering his tongue underneath Sherlock’s prick in an effort to push this man further over the edge. Sherlock tightened his grip in John’s hair, but gritted his teeth in an effort to stave off the orgasm he could feel buzzing around in his pelvis and stomach. 

Jim hummed contemplatively after he gave another small lick to John’s hole. “Shame we don’t have any lube on hand,” he said to himself, ignoring or not noticing the wet clucks of breath in front of him. 

“But it’s all the way in the bedroom,” he continued, “and this is far too good of a sight to miss, even for a moment.” He dug his fingernails firmly but briefly into John’s buttocks in a burst of compulsive sadism. John would fervently deny it later, but the squealing noise he made would be happily reconstructed in Jim’s mind for the rest of eternity. 

Jim shrugged, sighing in a well practiced put upon manner, “I suppose that I’ll just have to make do.” 

So Jim unzipped his own trousers, pushing down his clothes until his stiff erection was exposed to the cool air. He gripped John’s hips enough to keep him steady. Then he placed his throbbing cock in the cleft of John’s warm and wet arse. Jim shivered from the contact, and began to rock himself back and forth across the sensitive skin. 

It wasn’t nearly as hot or as tight as it would have been if he were inside of John, but this delicious friction, this blatant and desperate _need_ to rut against something in order to get off coiled a thin thread of pressure within Jim’s balls. The slick of his saliva prevented any undo chafing. And when Jim pressed the pads of his hands against John’s cheeks, it effectively smothered his cock in delightful mimicry. 

John moaned from the sensation of Jim rutting against his arsehole, his mouth still stuffed with Sherlock’s prick. The vibration was all it took for Sherlock’s self control to snap like an over tuned violin cord. 

Groaning, Sherlock’s head hit the back of the sofa, his hips thrusting in an erratic rhythm. He wasn’t fucking John’s mouth anymore, he was using it. Like he was just a warm and wet hole to help him get off. John could feel that debasement, and for reasons that he didn’t know and wouldn’t examine later, it made him shiver in pleased humiliation. 

John choked when the head of Sherlock’s dick hit the back of his throat. Spit fell in uncontrollable streams down his chin and his tan throat. The taste of him and the feeling of Jim rubbing over such sensitive skin was all he could process. He had stopped becoming a boy with his own mind, and instead turned into a mindless addict, desperate for one more sensation.

John’s throat fluttering from the constriction of air was the final push Sherlock needed. He held John’s head in place, pushing him down as he came in spurts down the back of John’s throat. 

The spit mixed with Sherlock’s come, spilling out the sides of his mouth while John tried desperately to breathe. Tears instinctively sprung from his eyes in response to his acting gag reflex and ran down the same dried paths he’d shed when he’d been spanked. When Sherlock pulled his softening prick out of John’s mouth and looked down, the debauched sight sent another sharp stab of arousal through his whole body. If he was capable of it, he would’ve forced his prick back inside, just to watch John vainly try to swallow away such filthy evidence.

As it was, he got to watch John’s face when he came. Jim reached around John’s hip, feeling himself come unerringly close to orgasm when John had twitched helplessly as he’d gagged. When he’d glanced up to see Sherlock come, he felt his climax curl through his belly. Gripping John’s hard cock, he rubbed the precome over the shaft as much as he could and began to pump him vigorously.

John yelled and nearly made himself look at the ground from the force of his pleasure. But Sherlock’s instruction was almost seared into his brain, so he kept his head up, but his eyes shut. He couldn’t help it. And he hoped he wouldn’t be scolded for it later. 

Jim thrust himself against John’s arse, grunting with each glide, before he finally came with a mangled shout across John’s back. He knelt forward as far as he could, and bit down hard on John’s shoulder.  
The hot splash of Jim’s come on his skin, the pain of Jim’s teeth and the furious jerking of his cock was enough to unhinge John completely. Unaware and uncaring of how he looked or sounded, John climaxed with a needy whine, shaking on his hands and knees. 

He made a mess on the carpet, which he almost completely collapsed into. He blearily realized he was on his side, shivering from exhaustion and the influx of endorphins coursing through his veins. The only sound he could hear was the labored breathing from everyone in the room, and the pounding of his own heartbeat. Suddenly a throw blanket was tossed over his middle, and he was being carefully guided to lean his back against the front of the sofa.

One man was on either side of him, rubbing warmth into his arms. One corner of the blanket was softly cleaning away John’s mouth, chin, and chest. He tried to protest weakly and turn his head away, not wanting to ruin the blanket, but he was quickly shushed. When Sherlock was satisfied that John was as clean as he was going to get without proper warm water, he folded the corner away from John’s body.

When John had breath and enough sense to speak, he asked, “So, was that a good enough apology?”

Sherlock chuckled while Jim snickered. It lacked their usual vigor, as they both were attempting to get their breath back. They were far from old, but even the spryest teenager would have been tested from such an exertion.  
The evidence was sitting between them. Sherlock was the first to immediately sober and ask, “Are you all right? We didn’t go too far?”

John thought about it, and then shook his head. “I’m probably not going to want to sit on this scratchy carpet in a few minutes, but other than that I’m perfectly fine.” 

John’s face also took on a small frown of worry, “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to make you both so upset.”

Jim reached his hand up to lightly stroke his hand through John’s much abused hair, “Forgiven and forgotten Johnny. We weren’t exactly being the prime example of healthy communication either.” He nuzzled his face into John’s neck mumbling, “We’ll be better at that, cross our hearts.”

Sherlock spoke up, “We had assumed that you didn’t want to continue anything until the summer break, in order to minimize the chances of being discovered. Not discussing this with you was a grievous oversight. It won’t happen again.” 

John smiled, appeased with a warm and tight sensation in his chest, “Fantastic, we’re all sorry for ourselves, each other, and,” he stretched his legs out from underneath the blanket with a wince and slight crackling sound in his knees, “and a little bit sore. I vote we all shut up for a bit before one of us moves to make some post sex tea.” 

The professors silently agreed.


End file.
